Avalon - Chapter 90 - Snatching for Power

Snatching for Power

“You are to meet with the Beast Masters soon.”

Dark-Eye nodded in response, continuing to ponder his trail f thoughts.

“You are quiet, my king,” Burgock noted. “You have said little since we returned from the parlay.”

“There is little to be said on the matter,” Dark-Eye murmured. “I have decided upon a course of action.”

“You have?”

“London.”

“London?”

Dark-Eye released a deep breath before he spoke his thoughts aloud.

They had been troubling him so, urging him to go against his very nature of prideful stubbornness, but he could ill-afford to ignore them.

“We must secure it against Potter. He has proven time and again, against my best efforts, to be able to enter this place without detection. Already we have lost more than one hundred to him because of it, and I cannot allow it to continue. Winchester, it is just stone and human history. It is our own I care for, and our futures. I must be better than those that came before me, Burgock. I cannot make the same mistakes they did. That is why we still dwell underground, living off the scraps of the country we call home. No, I must be better, and for that, I must be able to admit my mistakes. Taking Winchester was one of them, especially when we already have a place we know better than any other.”

Burgock nodded his understanding.

“So, we are to move our men?”

“It is already being done. We will return home but not do so in defeat. We will claim London for ourselves. Centuries of our magic protect us there, Burgock. It was too pre-emptive for me to think we would fare so well away from it. No, piece by piece. It is the only way,” he finished as he stood. “By nightfall, we will have left Winchester, back to what we know best, on a new pathway to victory.”

“Won’t taking control of London make Potter suspicious as to why we have done it?”

Dark-Eye chuckled as he shook his head.

“For him to be suspicious, he must have a reason. What possible reason can he have to be suspicious of our motives beyond our desire for power?”

With that, he left to meet with the Beast Masters.

Seizing control of London would be no easy feat. With so many muggles and undoubtedly magicals living there, it would be quite the task in itself.

More nerve-wracking, however, was just how close the other goblins either too young or old to fight would be.

Even so, Dark-Eye did not believe Potter would know it, or even if he somehow did, that he could find the place let alone enter it.

Still, he would do his utmost to limit such a risk.

London would soon belong to the goblins, his warriors could be back with their loved ones, and the fighting would continue until there were no more that would oppose them.

Dark-Eye knew he had the numbers advantage, a significant one at that, but thus far, such had proven to be moot because he had not played his hand as cleverly as possible.

No, he would take London, leaving Potter and his ilk wondering just how such a thing had been achieved.

The thought alone brought a smile to his lips; a reserved one, but a smile, nonetheless.

(Break)

He wouldn’t say that the parlay had provided much in the way of information or even knowledge as to how the goblins would proceed, but Myrddin had been able to glean the emotions of the creatures quite well.

They were indeed curious about Harry Potter, angry at their kind being imprisoned, something that had come as quite the surprise to Myrddin himself, but despite this, they lacked caution.

Perhaps they had been for a time, but upon taking his leave of the White Cliffs in the south, Myrddin could almost feel what was to come, as did Harry Potter.

“We do not have long,” the man sighed as they arrived in room they gathered in within Camelot. “They are planning something, and we must be prepared for it.”

Myrddin nodded his agreement, but he could not ignore the prevailing thought bothering him.

“You have prisoners.”

Potter nodded unashamedly.

“They will be an important bargaining tool when it comes to an eventual peace treaty. If there is anything the goblins care about, it is those who share the same blood.”

Myrddin did not like the idea of holding anyone captive indefinitely, even if he could see the logic of Potter doing so.

There was something rather distasteful about removing the freedom of a people, even if they were enemies.

Still, he offered no protest.

His words would amount to nothing but another disagreement with Potter, and that was something either of them could ill-afford if what they believed proved to be correct.

“What will they do?” Owain asked.

“It is hard to say,” Potter murmured thoughtfully, “but we must be ready for it. We must expect anything from them.”

“Then I will see to the men,” Owain declared. “We will be ready in a matter of days.”

Both he and Hook left the room, and Myrddin released a deep breath.

“The Mind Arts are different for them.”

“They are,” Potter agreed. “They are brilliant in their own way, but they are led by their emotions. It makes them easy to read in some ways, but much more complex in others. It is as though you can deduce their intentions in the moment, but it is difficult to see if they are much more rational when their emotions aren’t so heightened.”

Potter had voiced Myrddin’s own thoughts on the way the creature’s minds worked.

“What did you gather about their magic?”

His expression darkened at the question.

“It is different to ours, much more uniquely individual, but that might well be because of what Dark-Eye has done.”

“You noticed the residual effects of ritualistic magic.”

“It was impossible to miss,” Potter murmured. “I have met men who have delved into it, but they were affected differently to him. He’s a powerful goblin and would be more than a match for most.”

“But not for you?”

“He will give me quite the fight, but no. He lacks the experience of war, and he is not even comparable to others I have killed. Oh, among his own, I do not believe there is a better warrior, and I could count on one hand how many I know that could best him, but he has allowed himself to become quite deluded. He believes himself superior to all because he is superior amongst his own. It will be his downfall.”

Myrddin nodded his agreement.

It was not often he shared a conversation with one as astute when it came to magic as Harry Potter.

Most took their gift for granted, simply accepted it for what it was rather than explore it, but not the man before him. He was a true wizard; curious, powerful, and not lacking intelligence.

Even so, Myrddin and Potter were undoubtedly two very different people with differing morals; so much so that it was nigh on impossible to believe they could find common ground on many issues.

“What next?” Myrddin asked as he fastened his cloak, ready to depart Camelot to meet with his cohorts on the Wizard’s Council.

“The men must be prepared,” Potter answered, “and Camelot must be protected. I am unsure if he would be so bold to attack the keep, but I would rather be prepared than caught unaware.”

“As would I,” Myrddin assured him before taking his leave of the room.

“I do not like it,” Flint muttered unhappily. “Meeting with the enemy is foolish.”

“Not when there is a promise of peace for the duration,” Myrddin countered. “As much as it was a risk, I think Potter did the right thing.”

“So, you’re on his side now?”

Myrddin frowned at the question before nodding.

“For the time being, whilst we have a common enemy, yes, I am on his side. He is an experienced warrior, much more so than me, and any of you. What would prove to be foolish would be allowing our pride and egos to question his expertise. He gathered much more than he told me from that meeting, and that can only be to our benefit. Potter has a way of inspiring loyalty.”

“Must I remind you that it is our men he will be inspiring,” Rookwood pointed out. “When the war with the goblins is over, if Potter survives, it is not as though our own hostilities will be so readily forgotten on either side.”

Most of the others murmured their agreement, but Myrddin did not miss the lack of passion in others.

It was unlikely any within the room would be friends with the man, but that did not mean they needed to enemies.

The same couldn’t be said for Myrddin. As ever, what he had seen in the stars weighed heavily on his mind, but was it to his own detriment?

Were the stars always so reliable?

He shook his head of such a thought.

The stars had never led him down a wrongful path.

They had set the way to where he was now, led him to ensuring Britain was peaceful, for the most part, and he could not deny how the magic resonated with him.

The visions he saw were a gift of magic, and magic was all.

Nonetheless, he found it increasingly more difficult to associate Potter with the glimpses of the Storm-bringer that had haunted him so these past years, and even the ruthless man he’d witnessed on the battlefield.

He released a deep sigh as his own thoughts continued to be muddied by what he’d seen, what he knew, and what might be in the future.

Myrddin could not bring himself to dismiss the stars, nor could he ignore the troubling signs he had seen for himself.

Potter himself was not a dark wizard, not in the traditional sense, but he was certainly not of the light.

He’d married a dark witch, had killed many, and wielded magic Myrddin would never delve into.

“For now, only the war against the goblins matter,” he declared. “We must claim victory before we even consider what comes after. Your men will return to you, and it is you they will be loyal to.”

Although he had spoken confidently, Myrddin could not promise that would be so, and certainly not that any of those that fought alongside Potter would take up arms against him.

Only a fool or someone as brilliant as the man would do so, which led Myrddin back to his own thoughts on Potter.

He was a powerful wizard, too powerful to be left unchecked.

If he so wished, he could likely bring Britain to its knees, much worse than Eadwulf, Guthrum, Cnut, and Dark-Eye combined.

It was a most troubling thought, and one Myrddin simply could not ignore.

Even so, for the time being, Harry Potter was their best chance to ensure the goblins did not win. Although Myrddin believed he could quell the rebellion, he was not ashamed to admit that this was indeed Potter’s area of expertise.

When it came to matters of war or martial prowess, there was no other he would put more faith in than Harry Potter, much to his consternation and ongoing concern.

(Break)

The improvement in the men was quite astounding, and Harry nodded approvingly as he watched the groups of twenty navigating the mock-battlefield he had created, with not a single one of them breaking their formations.

Of course, it could well be different when it came to facing the goblins and whatever else they managed to field against them, but so long as they kept a cool head, they would be quite the formidable fighting force.

“What do you think?” Owain asked.

“I think we can be certain of nothing until they have been blooded,” Harry answered honestly. “It’s all well and good here and now, but what happens when it is real?”

Owain frowned at the thought before he nodded.

“Does it not worry you?”

“Yes and no,” Harry murmured as he continued to watch. “You know as well as I do what men are capable of when they’re fighting for their lives, and this lot will be.”

“But with you leading them…”

Harry held up a hand.

“I will do so, but they cannot come to rely on me for everything. I will do all I can, but I am only human. I can’t solve all the problems of the world, Owain.”

“That doesn’t stop you trying.”

Harry snorted.

“Believe me, I wish I could just retreat into my home and never be seen again.”

“You mean that, don’t you?”

Harry nodded as he rubbed his eyes tiredly.

Already this war was taking its toll on him. With Morgana expecting their second child, Taran still as young as he was, and the goblin rebellion, he was being pulled in several directions.

Still, he was hopeful that latter would be resolved soon enough, one way or the other.

“How are your efforts going to locate the way in to their home?” Owain asked quietly, checking to ensure no one was listening in.

If Myrddin was opposed to him taking the goblin warriors as prisoners, Harry could only imagine his objections to what else he planned.

“Not as well as I hoped,” he sighed. “If nothing else, there is no denying their ability to disguise their entrance below ground. I may well have to follow through with my threat to dig them out with a shovel.”

Owain chuckled amusedly as he clapped him on the shoulder.

“You’ll figure it out,” he said encouragingly. “The only question is, what will you do when you find it?”

Harry had been pondering the very same thing.

He had no desire or intention to harm the elderly, women, and children that were in hiding, but Dark-Eye and his cohorts did not need to know that.

At worst, he would take them hostage, though to do so, he would first need to find his way to them. Doing so was proving to be a most fruitless and frustrating endeavour, but as always, he would persevere.

Harry knew he was missing something, a key perhaps, but until he figured out what it was for certain, the fighting would continue, and he suspected much more ferociously after the rather hostile parlay.

It was to be expected, however.

Nonetheless, Harry knew he must be vigilant, and the men, whether they were fully ready or not for what was to come, would need to be able to be mobilised at a moment’s notice.

For now, his efforts would continue, and he could only hope that he would get a much-needed breakthrough, less the war was to be prolonged, and the lives lost much too high.

One innocent death was already too much, but when it came to war, Harry had learned the hard way that it was often those not involved that suffered the most.

That would continue to be the case now, until he brought Dark-Eye and his forces to their knees.

His nostrils flared in anticipation, and his hands twitched towards his wand and sword.

No matter what was to come however, he could always guarantee that the only true winner would be Death itself, who always had a bountiful feast during times of conflict.

(Break)

It wasn’t often he ventured here. The smell of the varieties of manure would cling to him for days after, nauseating musk that none would wish upon themselves.

Today, however, was different.

Dark-Eye needed to see for himself what the Beast masters had been taming these past moons, and what he could unleash upon his enemies.

Goblins had quite the proclivity towards creatures. It was quite the mystery just why that was. Beasts of all kinds seemed to just submit to the will of them, one way or another.

Some required harsh training; pain, discipline, and for their will to be broken to become compliant to the wishes of their masters. Others needed a much more delicate hand; feeding, rewards, and simple loyalty to accommodate the goblins.

Perhaps it was a part of their magic that made taming most beasts a natural thing, or maybe it was merely that goblins themselves were amongst the most stubborn of creatures.

It was nothing something Dark-Eye had given much thought to.

His own passion did not involve being almost up to his knees in dung most days or sustaining regular injuries and perhaps death should something go truly awry when carrying out his work.

No, he left that to the dedicated Beast Masters, those who somehow enjoyed the challenge of what they did.

“My king,” one of the workers greeted him as he arrived. “I must say, it is an honour. How may I be of service?”

Dark-Eye offered his counterpart a nod of acknowledgement.

“I have need of some of the creatures. Our enemies grow too bold, and it is time for us to progress in this war. I will not continue to allow our kind to be taken in the night by a coward.”

The worker goblin growled.

“Then we may have exactly what you are looking for. Come, I will show you what we have been working with.”

Dark-Eye followed, his nose wrinkling as the smell of manure and creatures filled his nose.

“As ever, we have many trolls of different breeds. Of course, you know they are quite useful and dispensable,” the worker explained amusedly. “Further along, we have ogres, but these ones are quite young at the moment, and not so good for battle. They can be used for carrying heavy loads, but little else.”

“I think we will leave them to grow,” Dark-Eye replied thoughtfully.

It wasn’t as though the war would be decided in a single great battle, after all.

Why would he commit himself to such when he had a significant numbers advantage.

No, Britain must be taken piece by piece, kingdom by kingdom, as it had been when Alfred sat upon his throne in Winchester. Dark-Eye would do much the same, but from where he had a much better hold on the land.

“Then perhaps these will be of use to you, my king,” the worker spoke again, pulling Dark-Eye from his thoughts.

He frowned as he stared into the thickets of trees concealed behind a magical bubble.

“I see nothing,” he murmured.

The worker grinned in response before tapping the bubble with a long forefinger.

Dark-Eye took a step back as dozens of enormous wolves lunged from within the brush, the yellow eyes and salivating chops making for quite the intimidating sight.

The worker laughed amusedly as Dark-Eye watched them with interest.

“What are they?” he asked curiously.

These were not like any other wolf he’d seen before.

These were at least double the size, much thicker, and each claw the length of a short dagger; able to tear any man, magical or muggle, to shreds in the blink of an eye.

“We bred them ourselves, my king,” the worker declared proudly. “We took two regular wolves, a male and female, and fed them a concoction of potions. This is the result of their four litters so far.”

Dark-Eye nodded approvingly as the behemoths paced back and forth, eyeing him hungrily.

To one of these wolves, he would be but a snack, which was quite the concern.

“They seem rather feral…”

“Oh, they are, my king,” the worker said matter-of-factly, “but, they are averse to a certain scent and will not come near it. We taught them to fear it.”

“What scent?” Dark-Eye questioned with a frown.

The worker removed a small phial of a brown liquid from within his tunic and removed the stopper.

Dark-Eye flinched at the potent stench of whatever was within and fought the urge to vomit.

“What is it?”

“A mixture of Stinksap, troll sweat, and garlic.”

Dark-Eye grimaced as he pushed the phial away.

“How many do you have?”

“Forty ready for battle, my king.”

“And what else?”

The worker grinned maliciously as he rubbed his hands together.

“Many, many things, my king. Come, I will show you what is available to you.”

Dark-Eye did not know if he should share in the enthusiasm of his companion or perhaps pity the enemies he would meet soon enough.

He decided on neither, keeping his mind focused on the task at hand.

Even with as many creatures as he saw around him, there would be no easy victory.

Harry Potter had proven to be a resourceful and dangerous man, and though Dark-Eye remained confident he would emerge victorious, he had quickly learned not to underestimate his foe.

Still, he was filled with a sense of anticipation of what was to come, even if he was uncertain if such a feeling was a welcome one, or a dreadful omen of how the war had unfolded thus far.

(Break)

She had never felt the same affinity for the magic of the stars as others. During her brief stint at Hogwarts, she had listened to Rowena speak of them as though they were alive, that they had voices of their own, that they told stories of times gone by and those yet to come.

Despite having studied them for hours, Morgana had heard barely a whisper.

From time to time, she would have dreams that proved to have some provenance, but she was no seer and did not commune with the same beings that Rowena and even Myrddin.

Since she had fallen pregnant for the second time however, those dreams had become more vivid, and she felt herself drawn to the night sky.

That was why she had ventured outside at this late hour.

Morgana had been sleeping peacefully when she’d once again been disturbed by the babe she carried, and the urge to seek solace in the stars had become overwhelming.

Fortunately, it was a clear night. The moon was full and the constellations were easily seen.

Still, she could not fathom why she was here, but as she watched the heavens above, Morgana was certain she could hear voices speaking to her, and that the stars began to dance across the sky.

Transfixed, she winced as she heard a low growl and saw the constellation of the wolf lunge towards the crow.

Lupus and Corvus seemed to circle one another before more and more stars descended upon them.

Although it was the stars before her eyes, Morgana could see the crow surrounded by wolves in her mind. It evaded them deftly, yet the jaws of the lupine beasts continued to snap at it.

Among the crows and the wolves, she could see a fox, a raven, and a large serpent constellation, all engaging in a great struggle.

The growling and snarling of the wolves continued, and then there was coldness.

Morgana gasped as she seemingly came back to herself, and the sky was as serene as it had been when she’d first looked upon it. There was no more conflict, but the coldness lingered.

“Wolves,” she whispered, resting her hand on her stomach. “Are you trying to tell me something, little one?”

A sudden wave of nausea came over her, and Morgana steadied herself against the trunk of the tree.

Whatever magic was at play, she wouldn’t pretend to understand, but Morgana knew better than to ignore such things.

She had been shown what she had for a reason, and with that in mind, she hurried to speak with her sleeping husband in the hopes he could make more sense of it than she had been able to.

(Break)

Owain gave his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze.

“I won’t pretend to know how you’re feeling, but regardless of what happens, you are the boys’ father. You have raised him, you taught him to ride, and you’re the one who put a sword in his hands. Nothing can change that, Hook.”

The man nodded and took another sip of his ale.

“Gwyneth was honest with me from the start about who Maxim’s father is. She never hid it, and as stupid as it sounds, there was a part of me that wanted to hate Arthur. How pathetic is that? The man doesn’t even know he has a son, and…”

He broke off and shook his head.

“I’m so proud of the boy, Owain.”

“I know,” Owain assured him. “I see it and hear it every time you speak about him.”

“But he should know the truth,” Hook sighed.

“He should,” Owain agreed, “and it will be better coming from you than when he decides he will one day want to travel. Inevitably, he will find himself at Camelot, and all it would take was someone to ask who his mother was. Even that idiot Bors could figure out who fathered him.”

Hook nodded.

“He’s already not so far off from being old enough. In a few more years, he’ll want to see the world, and I won’t be able to stop him.”

Owain chuckled amusedly.

“Does it frighten you?”

“Doesn’t it you thinking of Aeron doing the same?”

Owain cursed under his breath.

“Only because I know what it is like out there. You’ve seen it, Hook. The world is a shithole for the most part, with only a few saving graces.”

“Ah, but the kids will have to see that for themselves, just like we did. Do you remember when we first left? We thought we would just be drinking in taverns, having some fun with the local girls, and maybe having a scrap or two at a tourney.”

Owain snorted.

“Were we that bloody pig-headed?”

“We were, and our boys will be the same, if that happens for Maxim. When he learns the truth, he might just want to go to Camelot.”

“No,” Owain denied. “I expect he will be hurt, a little upset and curious, but he’s a sensible lad. He won’t do anything rash.”

“I hope not,” Hook sighed tiredly, almost jumping out of his seat as an ethereal crow materialised in front of the two.

“Gather the men! The goblins are attempting to take London!”

They sobered immediately.

“Well fucking hellfire,” Owain cursed irritably. “Can’t the little bastards just give it a rest, or better yet, go home?”

“When has life ever been so easy?” Hook asked. “Come on, before Potter decides he’s going to have all the fun for himself.”

With a nod, Owain drew his wand to activate the protections around the village, just as Harry had taught him, before taking Hook by the arm and transporting them to Camelot, where they would rouse the troops.

Many of them had spoken of the glory of battle, or returning home as heroes and victors, but tonight, it seemed, they would get quite the dose of reality of what war truly was.

They would experience no glory, only wounds, cruelty, death, and a new perspective on life, if they were fortunate.

(Break)

It truly was odd to see London in such a way.

As a boy, Harry had not travelled much. Once or perhaps twice he had been brought to the capital by the Dursleys when Mrs Figg had been unavailable to look after him, and though the city was a far cry from what it would one day become, parts of it were somewhat familiar to Harry.

Of course, he recognised the river skirting what was now the outside of the city walls. The Thames stretched off far into the distant countryside with boats docked on either side of it.

London itself now, however, was not the wide and paved streets with magnificent buildings.

For the most part, the streets were winding and narrow, the cramped in houses made of wood, but it was the stench of the place that was most irksome.

The streets were filthy and reeked of human waste, decay, and rotting food that was strewn about quite carelessly.

Harry could scarcely turn his head without seeing a rat feasting upon something that had been discarded.

He wrinkled his nose in disgust, stilling as he heard a disturbance from nearby, the clinking of heavy metal, and a familiar guttural growling.

He’d hoped he’d been wrong, that he had not been so foolish and ignorant of what perhaps should’ve been quite obvious from the very beginning.

Even if he was proven correct, it raised more questions than the realisation answered.

No, it would’ve been unwise for the goblins to first take London if it was beneath the city that they were living.

It made sense.

They would not wish to draw attention to themselves but given that they now had something of a foothold in Winchester and attention was away from what would one day be the capital, it was time to secure it, and the loved ones living below.

Harry frowned at the thought.

Where they lived now would likely become the deep, unforgiving tunnels that housed the vaults of the magicals, which meant that beneath his feet was already quite warren to navigate.

Still, the problem now was the marauding goblins that had decided to take London, and whilst he waited for his own forces to arrive, he could not ignore the sense of unease he felt.

Why now?

Why would the goblins take London when their hold on Winchester was tenuous?

Did they believe they had more of an advantage here?

Perhaps they did.

With the vast network of tunnels to hide within, it wasn’t as though they didn’t have many more places they could hide, and it wasn’t as though Harry had managed to locate the entrance…

His eyes widened as he took to the sky to look upon London from above.

The entrance must be in the very same place the large marble building would one day sit, but given there was no Diagon Alley, and London itself was considerably smaller, Harry was at a loss as to where that might be.

“Shit!” he cursed irritably, landing on one of the very few stone buildings as the first screams of the goblins victims sounded.

London might be much smaller, but that didn’t stop people wishing to live here, even if it was a vile cesspit of disease and disorder.

Around fifty thousand.

That was how many called London home, and yet, even such a vast number of muggles could not fight off the goblins.

Still, that didn’t stop some from trying, and as Harry spotted the flashes of unmistakeable spellfire not so far from his position and heard the clash of steel, he thought perhaps the army had arrived and were already attacking, only to quickly realise that was not so.

Amongst the muggles here, there were evidently warriors, but amongst them, there were other magicals, and Harry quickly realised that if they were to survive, they would need immediate help.

Glancing towards one of the gates into the city by the river where he expected his own forces to arrive imminently, he saw that they had yet to do so, but time was of the essence.

Cursing under his breath, he took to the air once more, drawing his wand and headed towards where he heard the most violent of disturbances.

Peering into one of the narrow streets he saw a group of witches and wizards, around thirty in all, who were doing their utmost to defend themselves against the scores of goblins determined to kill them.

Shaking his head and wondering why it was always him that found himself in such situations, Harry allowed himself to drop, landing between the gathering of magicals and the goblins that were slowly but surely breaking down the hastily conjured defences.

Unleashing a gout of fire, he followed up with a plethora of spells, and soon after, the screams of the suffering creatures filled the air.

“IT’S POTTER!” one of them shouted in warning.

How far his voice would carry through such a cramped environment, Hary didn’t know, but for now, he fought on, bolstering the efforts of the magicals who were taken aback by his sudden appearance.

“If you don’t want to die, I could use some help!” he snapped, spotting an enormous troll barrelling towards them, swing a crude club, and destroying everything in its wake.

Shaking themselves from their shock, they complied and began casting spells towards the monstrosity bearing down on them.

Its hide proved to be exceptionally resistant to the magic, so, taking the initiative, Harry doused the ground between them and the troll with liberal amounts of water before casting a freezing charm on it.

The beast began stumbling, and with a blasting curse towards its legs, it slipped backwards, its head hitting the concrete with a sickening thud.

The troll, much to Harry’s surprise, remained conscious and fought to right itself, only to grunt as Harry hurried forward and drove his sword through its neck.

For a moment, it roared in protest, fighting for air, but as with all others, it succumbed to the basilisk venom imbued into the goblin-made sword, fell still, and Harry grimaced at the stench that escaped it.

Those looking on did so in a state of awe, and Harry shook his head.

“Come,” he urged. “I have hundreds of men on the way, but there are others that need our help.”

He gestured in the air to the sounds of ongoing violence throughout the city, and the Londoners followed him unquestioningly as he turned and headed into the next street, which had been devastated by the goblins and whatever else they had brought along.

Still, there was no sign of the men the city so sorely needed, and Harry cursed under his breath once more as he and the locals came upon a large group of goblins terrorising those that had no hope of defending themselves.

“Come Death, come,” he murmured, merely nodding to the others before throwing himself into the fray.

(Break)

“Well, shit,” Owain cursed as they arrived a short distance away from London, atop a hill to the east of the city.

Fires were already taking hold over a considerable portion of the buildings to the north, and even from their vantage point here, they could already see the spellfire.

“Bloody hell,” Hook murmured.

The sentiment was agreed by the rest of the men they had brought along, hundreds of them answering Harry’s call to arms.

“Hook, you take half of the men and enter the city from the west. The rest of us will do so from the east. The streets are too narrow for all of us to go together, so be careful. The little shits will ambush us at every turn.”

Hook nodded and gestured for half of their forces to follow him, and he offered Owain a nod before leading them away.

This would be their first true test in battle and would determine how ready they were for what was to come.

“Not so much glory now, is there?” he asked knowingly.

None offered a reply, each lost in their thoughts of the violence unfolding before them, sobered by the reality that was war.

“Now, we are to stick together as much as we can. I want all sides covered and talk to one another. It’s no good if we are blindsided by the bastards. Now, with me,” he finished, charging forward to enter the city without further preamble.

What greeted them was the sight of the dead and dying, mostly humans, but with a few goblins dotted sporadically among them.

It was quite the grim welcoming, and it became only more so the further they progressed towards the sounds of fighting where the men saw for themselves just how dangerous the goblins could be.

Hook said nothing else to them, however, and chose to press on, allowing the bloodshed, gore, and suffering to speak for itself.

Soon enough, they would get a true rendition of what war was, and it came as they rounded the next corner to be greeted by the spectacle that was Dark-Eye beheading a man with a single swing of his sword.

Hook paused and his grip tightened on his wand as the mismatched eyes of the goblin met his own.

Foolishly, one of the men charged forwards, screaming at the top of his lungs, only to be swatted aside with a wave of the goblin’s hand which sent him crashing into the wall.

Dark-Eye grinned at the unmoving form, and Hook quickly realised that he and his group were about to be beset on all sides.

With nothing but a nod of determination, he readied himself, and Dark-Eye’s smile widened.

“Kill them!” he growled, eliciting a most violent response from those that called him king.